


Welcome to Hell

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Lost
Genre: Corpses, Death, Dreams and Nightmares, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Lucid Dreaming, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 23:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: John Locke awakes one cold night to find that not all is as it seems. His mind is a blur, his memories forgotten and, for some strange reason, it seems to be snowing on the island. He's lying beside his lover, Boone, and is confused as he lies back in his camp bed. Will he ever find out what's wrong with this scenario? Will he ever remember the events leading up to now? He cannot remember a thing. His head is a complete mess.





	Welcome to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2006 to Livejournal.
> 
> Written for the 'cold night' prompt at the '60_minute_fics' community.

Turning over in his sleep, the bald man clutched at the short woollen blanket which he was under, a small square of wispy fibres. He'd hoped that he wouldn’t have needed it tonight, the weather having been so fine in the day. But now it was the dead of night and a freezing night at that. _Far_ too cold. Though it provided little heat, the blanket was his _only_ hope of keeping warm out here in the forest. Locke pressed his fingers to the hem, pulling the whole of it upwards and onto himself.

Deep in his subconscious, his current state of slumber, he knew what he felt to be _wrong._ Why _ever_ was it so cold here tonight? It surely wasn’t possible for island temperatures to reach sub-zero. Not that _any_ of this should make sense to a rational man such as himself, anyway. Under normal circumstances, it would take the most _gullible_ amongst us to believe what was happening here, and yet everyone took it at face value. They had no choice but to do so. As a hunter, he found that the environment was something he’d grown to rely on - the only thing he _could_ rely on. But with polar bears, magnetic forces and black horses on this island, not even _he_ could gather his bearings. For all he knew, he might actually be in the arctic circle, and the climate would certainly fit it.  
  
Shivering a little, he paused. The chill was finally getting to him and he started to awaken, rolling onto his back with eyelids still closed. It was such a cold night, _bitter_. So very unlike anything he had known before here. A lone snowflake floated away and down towards them from a clear and dark, indigo night sky, obscured by few clouds. It landed softly on his cheek, melting on impact, and then was followed by several more - spot after spot of icy rain, and what was the beginning of a steady sleet. So then his eyes _shot_ open with great surprise. Could it _really_ be snowing? Were the others feeling this too? It was real _enough_ to touch.

He looked over to his left, to see if there was anyone to confirm what he had just seen, unsure of whether he was losing his own sanity. But the figure sleeping beside him remained undisturbed through the snow and blow. The were otherwise alone, amidst a jungle clearing, surrounded by trees. Sharing the camp bed with his partner, the older man didn’t really mind the lack of space at all - Boone was his comfort in so many ways, his constant companion and friend through all of this. He wrapped an arm around him, pulling the boy closer to himself. Holding his hand as he did so, he leaned against his bare back in any hope of gaining some shared body heat. But there was oddly _none_. Carlyle's skin felt frozen to his touch and appeared an off-white colour under star and moonlight. But Locke’s love for him was so strong that it didn’t put him off.  
  
He still continued to embrace him. Burying his nose and jaw into the side of his neck, he smelt at his hair, breathing in scents that were earthy and of the elements - smells of the natural world which yet seemed so strangely unnatural. Usually Boone was a sweet smelling man who applied leftover dregs of aftershave every day and often bathed in the stream, which was what made this all the more peculiar. He wasn’t _himself_. Neither were things adding up tonight, with _first_ the winter and now _this_.

If only Locke could _remember_ \- everything that had occurred up until now was just a blur in his head, forgotten memories - so, he closed his eyes tightly and focussed again on concentrating. It was only when he put his mind to it, did he see the _hatch_ , the _others_ , their hostage and the explosion. Did he, himself, die in that blast? Or was he even hurt? He questioned himself over again, thinking of what else from the past he had blacked out. And that was when he remembered the _plane_ too, and how his lover had been _killed_ in the accident. He then, quite rightly, wondered _who_ must have been lying beside him right now.

"Boone?" he whispered, lifting himself up from his bed, as to crouch over his friend's sleeping form. He _desperately_ needed to see his face. With a hand in his, malleable and almost inhuman flesh within his grasp, he gasped, realising at long last what was wrong.   
  
Because in the younger man’s place, lied instead the body of the deceased. And to John's shock, the seemingly still creature snapped to life, angrily pulling away from him and snarling back. Faced with what had become an eyeless freak, Locke stared into the empty sockets, red and scarred around the edges. Yet he _knew_ they were looking at _him_. What was going on here? His true love was nothing more than one of the undead - a walking zombie. Locke tried to scream but, no-one _could_ , nor would _ever_ be able to hear him in this place. He turned straight back to Carlyle, faced with a smirking, bloodied joker smile.  
  
"Welcome to hell, John…"


End file.
